


CSI: The Space Between

by fhsa_archivist



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Adult Content, BDSM, Episode Related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-20
Updated: 2006-04-11
Packaged: 2019-02-05 17:43:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12799194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: Some people play for fun, some play for profit, and some play for revenge. For Greg, it's just fun, and he knows it's the ones who play for revenge that make the rest of them look bad.





	1. Chapter 1A These Twisted Games

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

  
Author's notes: Prequel to Hormigas Coloradas.  


* * *

Nick was crowding him, overly curious about the results, and Greg was too annoyed not to say something about it. "Think you could step back, give me some breathing room?" Greg hid a smile when Nick stepped back obediently; he was good at taking orders, even from an underling like Greg. Nick definitely had the potential to be a good submissive, and if Greg didn't know that Nick was as straight and vanilla as the ice cream inside an ice cream sandwich, he would've offered to teach Nick a thing or two.

 

As it was, Greg wasn't too disappointed. It would be nice to train Nick, but Greg had his sights set on someone who was more aware of his abilities, on someone who had the potential to be a good dominant, someone who seemed aware of his dominance and wielded it often and well. That was the great thing about being submissive and dominant; he was twice as likely to find someone with attractive tendencies.

 

Nick was obediently silent as Greg tested the silver slivers Gil had found on the victim in the sandbox, the one who'd had liquid latex on her. Nick didn't know that yet, but Greg was biding his time, drawing out the revelation of results so he could keep Nick in his lab longer. "Let's see what the library has to say," he suggested, bringing up the identity of the slivers he'd just processed. "Tempered steel with aluminum coating."

 

"Then she was chained up," Nick interpreted perceptively, and Greg nodded in approval. He commented that she'd been wearing something interesting, and Nick guessed, "She was in the raw."

 

"Close," Greg praised, holding up the results for the liquid latex. "Remember that other stuff Grissom got off the body? I broke it down, got the ingredients - tree sap, ammonia, water."

 

Nick snorted. "Sounds like frat house gravy."

 

And Nick would know. "It's liquid latex," Greg informed him, smirking at the clueless look on Nick's face. That, Nick wouldn't know. "It's all the craze right now, man." And that, Greg would know. He'd certainly played with it himself enough, although he'd learned the hard way that it was more fun when preceeded by shaving one's body hair. Thoroughly. "Girls paint it on guys, guys paint it on girls, you can paint it on yourself if you want," he went on, having to restrain himself from saying that guys painted it on guys, too, because he didn't want to scandalize Nick and come out to him in the same day. "You know, if you can't get a date." Greg paused. "Not that I would know."

 

"Right," Nick said skeptically, and Greg laughed to himself. Nick couldn't hear, but Greg made sure Nick saw the wink Greg sent his way as Nick booked it out of the lab with his precious results, blushing predictably.

 

Yeah. Greg loved his job.


	2. Chapter 1B

"Catherine! Hey, Cath!" Greg was too excited to care that he was probably annoying Catherine worse than Nick was annoying him at the beginning of the night. At least he didn't call her 'Cat', but coming from Greg, 'Cath' wasn't much better.

 

He knew a person was dead. He knew that wasn't a nice thing. And he knew it wasn't very nice of him to try to use someone's death to spice up his social life, but the sad thing was, the woman was already dead. It was tragic, but not taking advantage of this opportunity wouldn't bring her back.

 

Catherine was moving briskly through the corridors, toward Grissom's office probably, hopefully with an identity on the victim. She darted an impatient look in Greg's direction. "What do you want, Greg? I'm in the middle of a case."

 

"I know, that's why I wanted to talk to you." Greg stretched his legs to keep pace with her, which was usually difficult with Cath even though she was female. Greg had long legs, he could keep good pace, especially with women, but Cath had a masculine energy to her that Greg found very attractive. She was more verbal about her disapproval of Greg's behavior than Gil, which gave her dominant potential too. She could probably even cut Gil down to size. "Did you get a name on the vic?" That was it, Greg, use the lingo. 'Vic' instead of 'victim'. All the CSIs did it.

 

Cath frowned in his direction as she kept moving, probably hoping to lose him. "What does it matter to you?"

 

"Well, you know, I was just thinking, maybe I could help out." Why did everyone look skeptical when he suggested that? "Um, oh! Did I ever apologize for Bogarting that case from you when I worked it with Nick? I'm sorry about that, really. I didn't think I'd be so helpful, and I didn't wanna leave you out. It's just... I have life experience that could be really helpful..."

 

"Don't strain your arm patting yourself on the back," Cath muttered, clearly not warming up to the idea even with his apology. Not that it was much of an apology, and Greg knew that, but at least he was trying, right?

 

"Who's patting himself on the back?" Grissom asked absently, and Greg straightened up, trying to wipe the grin off his face. He should seem appropriately chastised by Cath, not look like the cat that ate the canary.

 

"She's exagerrating," Greg interrupted before Cath could brush him off, presenting himself directly to Grissom. At least then Grissom could brush him off, if that was his decision. He was the key player here, after all. His approval was more important than Catherine's. "I was just saying how I have some life experience that could help with this case, like when I helped Nick with the scuba guy up the tree, remember? I broke that case wide open..." Greg trailed off when he realized they were both staring at him like a rather unpleasant piece of evidence. "Sir."

 

Gil exchanged a look with Cath, his expression more unreadable than Cath's, which clearly said Please don't make us humor him. Greg grinned sheepishly. One of these days, he'd figure out how to get Cath to appreciate his quirkiness.

 

"You're looking for more field experience?" Gil finally asked, looking a bit surprised. Mentally, Greg bounced, because that was really promising, but outwardly he just nodded. "Are you caught up in the DNA lab?" Greg nodded again, and Gil looked back at Catherine, whose shoulders slumped just a little. Greg tried hard not to grin again. "Well, I don't see why not."

 

"Thank you," Greg said enthusiastically, hard pressed not to say it a second time and then a third. Gil was really going to let him help with the case! He was going to get to work a case with Gil! And not just any case, a kinky case with liquid latex and chains! Could his life get any better?

 

"Catherine, did the implants get you anywhere?"

 

Implants? If Greg hadn't known they were talking about a victim, he would've had the perfect excuse to look at Cath's breasts. As it was, he was having a hard time resisting the temptation. Cath's breasts were always nice to look at.

 

And Gil was talking about implants. That made Greg want to giggle. Just a little.

 

Cath sighed, passing half the papers she was holding to Gil. She seemed to resign herself to the fact that Greg was working on the case with them, which would give Greg the perfect chance to show her that he was as talented in the field as he was in the lab, and not nearly as annoying when they were around civilians. Well - CSIs were technically civilians, but still.

 

"Mona Taylor," Gil muttered, studying the top paper Cath had handed him. "And we know where she works?"

 

Cath nodded. "Want me to get Brass?"

 

Gil considered that for a moment, then shook his head. "Just get Nick. That'll make four," he decided.

 

Greg grinned. He had plans to make Nick blush as much as possible tonight. And that was always fun to watch.


	3. Chapter 1C

They drove separately to Mona's workplace, each taking their own cars in case they had to leave at different times. Greg was excited; it would be his first visit to an actual investigation, and maybe even the crime scene itself if it turned out that Mona had been killed where she worked.

 

He'd been expecting an office building of some kind, but the address Gil stopped at was clearly a residential. Even at night, Greg could tell this was a nice place; the house alone was huge, and situated in the front of a well-manicured estate. This wasn't like the strip or the area around it where the residentials consisted of apartments and small houses. There had to be at least five acres of land, and especially in a place like Vegas, that meant money, and a lot of it. Greg could only wonder what Mona did for a living to work at a place like this and be able to afford implants that were, according to Cath, top-of-the-line.

 

Given the way Gil and Cath and Nick were hanging back and looking up at the place, Greg wasn't the only one surprised by the location. Nick was the first to shrug and move on, hefting his kit in his hand as he offered to search the perimeter. That left Greg alone with his two favorite alphas to investigate the inside of the workplace and interview the boss and whatever other workers might be there. Since it was a residential, there wouldn't be as many employees as there would be at an office building, but at a place as big as this, there might a few servants. Unfortunately, there probably wouldn't be any security cameras, but Greg was just an observer so it didn't affect him that much. Still, he was interested in helping solve the case, even if his desire for field experience was secondary to the appeal of working a kinky case with Gil. As it was, Greg could barely contain his excitement. He was pretty sure it could be the most boring case ever, and he'd still be thrilled as long as he got to tag along with Gil. Greg's curiosity peaked as they approached the house, the display of flickering candles at the entrance capturing his attention. Definitely not a standard exterior decoration.

 

Curiosity was an understatement as to Greg's state of mind when the door finally opened. They were greeted by a woman whose beauty Greg could only describe as severe, her appearance - probably mundane when she wasn't dressed up like this - enhanced by carefully applied makeup, smooth, dark hair, and a dramatic outfit all in black. She had the air of a master, one who knew that she was in control of everything and everyone around her, exuding confidence and power with a simple look, a posture, a stance. Greg was entranced.

 

"Let me guess; three police officers looking for respite from having to control and dominate our big, bad city?" She had a beautiful voice, commanding for all its femininity, cultured for all the dark, dirty thoughts her words inspired in Greg's mind. Yes, he liked her. He liked her a lot.

 

"Close," Catherine said, sounding amused. "Three criminalists. Can we come in?"

 

The woman stepped aside, sweeping her arm to indicate their welcome, and as Greg crossed the threshold, he heard a groan, so loud it was almost a scream. It was a groan of half-pain, half-pleasure, coming from somewhere upstairs.

 

"Another happy customer," their hostess commented, almost quipped, and she was looking right at Greg when she said it. Greg didn't bother to hide the fascination he knew was showing on his face; this mistress wasn't concerned in the least that her customers were being treated to something of an obviously sexual nature, even though there were criminalists in her front room. Apparently, she thought they were customers too, because she continued, "Now, would you prefer individual sessions or would you like to enjoy each other's submission?"

 

She was looking at Gil when she said it, but even without her intense gaze, the offer made Greg's cock harden and twitch in his pants. Shit, that was the last thing he needed, to get turned on in the middle of an investigation while he was shadowing Grissom, of all people. As if Grissom didn't turn him on enough just by existing. Now he had to be in a place where people were enjoying domination and submission and all he could do was think about kneeling at Grissom's feet. That was bad enough; what was even worse that he realized he'd started to raise his hand, as if to shout, Oh! Oh, me! Pick me!

 

Fortunately, their hostess was the only one who noticed Greg's quickly aborted gesture, and Greg smiled sheepishly, trying not to squirm at her provocatively knowing look. Greg shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to will away his erection, but it was no good because she started to speak again.

 

"You don't have to decide now," she intoned. "Please... make yourselves comfortable, and welcome to Lady Heather's Dominion."


	4. Chapter 1D

  
Author's notes: I took a few liberties with Heather's office... not that I think anyone will mind.  


* * *

"No way," Greg breathed, taking in his surroundings with a new perspective. He hadn't planned to speak, hadn't even realized he was speaking until he felt three curious gazes on him. Greg's face heated up, which was pretty amazing considering it felt like all the blood in his body was in his cock. Before Greg could explain, Catherine's phone chirped, and Greg let out a sigh of relief that the attention wasn't all on him anymore.

 

"Willows."

 

"Hey, Cath," came Nick's drawl, "I found Mona's car."

 

"All right, be there there in a minute." Cath disconnected the call and shrugged, smiling apologetically at Gil. "Think you and Sanders can handle this without me?"

 

Gil opened his mouth to answer, but their hostess - could she really be Lady Heather? - smoothly interrupted before he could speak. "These gentlemen look capable of handling hemselves quite well," she assured Catherine, and the two women exchanged a meaningful glance, one that sent even more blood rushing south. Nice chemistry. Very nice. "Mr. Sanders?"

 

Greg's head shot up when he realized she was addressing him, and he took his hands out of his pockets, squaring his shoulders as he met her gaze. "Yes?"

 

"Your colleague mentioned a Mona." Catherine was gone now, which explained why she wasn't the one being questioned, but that didn't explained why Greg was the one being asked about Mona when Gil was obviously the one in charge. "I assume your visit is regarding Mona Taylor?"

 

"Um, yes," Greg answered, shooting an uncertain look at Gil. Greg was only supposed to be observing; Gil was the one who was supposed to be conducting the investigation. But Gil merely returned the look, his expression blank except for the slight quirk of an eyebrow, and that could mean anything. It was probably best to continue until Gil decided to participate in the conversation, so when Heather turned and started to ascend the stairs, Greg quickly moved to catch up with her. "Are you Mona's boss?"

 

"Mona is my employee, yes," she replied, so fluid in her ascent that she practically floated up the stairs, making Greg feel more awkward and clumsy than usual. He usually managed to hide that feeling well with his reasonable wit and charm, but every once in a while, someone came along who could knock him right off his stride. Like Catherine, and Gil, and now their victim's boss. "And you can call me Lady Heather."

 

"So you are her," Greg concluded, impressed. "Wow." He probably should've been interviewing her instead of expressing his awe for her reputation in the community, but he couldn't quite help himself. Lady Heather was a legend - a living legend - and he was talking to her. Walking alongside her in the Dominion.

 

"I take it you recognize the name," Lady Heather surmised, glancing sideways at him. They'd reached the landing at the top of the stairs, and Lady Heather stopped where she stood, turning to face him. Standing this close, Greg could tell that she was a little shorter than he was, but her presence was so powerful that she seemed to fill the room, the way Gil often did.

 

He was going to need a cigarette when he was done with this interview. "Do I recognize the name," he murmured rhetorically, leaning back against the railing for support. "Of course I-" It was at that moment that Greg remembered Gil was there, two steps below him, watching the exchange with undisguised curiosity. Greg tried not to squirm. "Um, yeah, I know it. Kinda hard not to," he finished, letting his voice trail off without bothering to explain why it should be so obvious that he knew it. Gil didn't seem to know the name, so it couldn't be so obvious to everyone. But Lady Heather would understand. Greg hoped.

 

"Indeed," Lady Heather agreed. She studied him for a few moments, and Greg knew it wasn't over. It wasn't anywhere near over. Even if she gave the illusion that it was by asking about the case then. "I'll do whatever I can to help with your investigation, however, I must admit that your presence here is somewhat unexpected."

 

Was this when he told Lady Heather that Mona was dead, and see how she responded? Greg didn't know, since he'd never done an interview before. He'd probably let it go too far, anyway. Uncertain, Greg looked questioningly at Gil, who finished climbing the stairs to join them on the landing. "I'll take it from here, Greg."

 

Greg nodded, his shoulders sagging a bit in relief. He really didn't want to do anything wrong, especially when he was just supposed to be an observer. He guessed Lady Heather wouldn't have addressed him in the first place if Cath hadn't said his name.

 

Lady Heather shifted slightly to face Gil now that he'd announced he was taking over the interview, looking him up and down in a way she hadn't done to Greg. Greg stared, not sure what to think of that. Was she attracted to him, too? Did she prefer Gil, who could supervise and take control of the situation so calmly, to Greg, who was clearly unsure of himself and trying so hard to impress?

 

Of course she did. Who wouldn't?

 

Lady Heather fixed her gaze on Gil's identification badge, her lips turning up in a smile. "Well, Mr. Grissom," she began, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your company tonight?"

 

Her words were laced with innuendo, but Gil didn't seem uncomfortable in the least. Instead, one corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk that Greg saw far too rarely. "My 'company' has nothing to do with pleasure," he replied, and for a second, Greg thought he was going to add 'unfortunately'. Greg would have. "We're investigating Ms. Taylor's death. Would you know anything about that?"

 

Lady Heather's smile faded, and she turned abruptly, her head first and the rest of her body. "I'm afraid not," she said steadily. "Never lost one of my girls."

 

"You don't sound too upset about it."

 

Gil was right. There was very little emotion in Heather's voice, although the line of her back was a lot stiffer than it had been before Gil explained why they were there.

 

"What you see and how I feel are two different things," she said calmly, and began to walk at a brisk pace, glancing at them over her shoulder as if to check that they were still with her. "My office is this way," she offered as an explanation, not stopping to look at them as they followed. "Tell me what you need, and I'll gladly provide it."

 

This time, there was no innuendo in her voice, just a sincere offer to help. At least, it sounded sincere to Greg, but he had no way of knowing if he was right. Science was so much easier than people, with right and wrong answers and results that could be verified. The criminal element was a lot harder to judge, and just because Greg didn't want Lady Heather to be guilty of anything didn't mean she wasn't. He'd have to remember that when he processed the evidence - that was, if he was allowed to process the evidence on his own case. Was that considered a conflict of interest? Possible bias?

 

"We need names and addresses," Gil said, easily keeping pace with Lady Heather. "We also need to know which rooms she worked last night so we can examine them."

 

"Mona worked the poolhouse," Lady Heather supplied. "Give me a minute, I'll have to move some clients around. Here we are." Lady Heather opened the door at the end of the hall, revealing a large office. She was still talking, showing Gil where she kept information on her customers, but Greg's attention had been captured by something a lot more interesting; a lot of somethings, actually.

 

Lady Heather's office displayed a mother lode of BDSM toys; paddles on the walls, long and short, flat and studded, arranged between criss-crosses of chains, probably like the ones the silver slivers on Mona's back had come from. There were whips, too, floggers hanging from hooks on the walls, single tails coiled around their own hooks, with the ocassional crop in the mix for good measure. A collection of phallicly decorated masks was displayed on a shelf, harnesses hanging on one side, collars on the other. Greg grinned in absolute glee at all the leather and metal as far as the eye could see and the nose could smell, bringing back memories from past relationships and, even better, fantasies he'd been having about Gil for years. Greg could hardly stop himself from reaching up to touch one of the collars, so he didn't even try, just lifted his hand and breathed it all in as his fingers approached the smooth, soft leather...

 

"Greg," Gil began, and Greg jumped, yanking his hand away from the wall and blushing as hard as if he'd been caught masturbating on the job. Which he pretty much was, even if it was only his head. "Take these back to the lab and start a search on all Mona's clients." Greg nodded, his face still flaming, and took the appointment book from Gil, about to leave when Gil spoke up again. "And see if you can find Catherine or Nick on your way out, will you? I need them to check in with me."

 

"Yes sir," he blurted out without planning to, and tried in vain to pretend it didn't mean anything more than professional respect. Just because Gil didn't seem weirded out by anything he'd seen or heard at the Dominion tonight didn't mean he was into it, or that he'd appreciate knowing his subordinate's thoughts on the subject - and on him. Greg knew he'd be lucky if Gil ever once responded to his flirting, never mind accepted Greg's preferences for extracurricular activities, which meant he had to be very, very careful when deciding just how much to reveal. Although if Gil asked, Greg didn't think he could lie. He was a terrible liar. Just like he was terrible at controlling himself, apparently, because he'd never heard of someone getting turned on during a murder investigation. It was just - twisted.

 

So Greg booked it out of Lady Heather's office and the Dominion before he could make an even bigger fool of himself, but not before he caught the knowing smirk on her face. Oh no; it wasn't over. And it wouldn't be over until Lady Heather decided it was over.


	5. Chapter 1E

  
Author's notes: Risky sex and risky nonsexual behavior is a choice they make, to whatever extent, knowing the risks. Some of them are more careful than others, and no matter how careful they are, the risk is always there.  


* * *

Returning to the lab was a bit of a disappointment. There weren't any new samples to run, and without additional evidence, the searches he'd done on Mona's clients hadn't gotten him anywhere. Bored, Greg flopped back in his chair, swiveling lazily around. He would've rather swiveled faster so he could've gotten decently dizzy, but he couldn't risk banging into one of the instruments or worse, disrupting evidence.

 

Hours after he'd gotten back to the lab, the sight of Cath and Gil in the hallway perked him right up. Greg pushed up and out of his chair, ignoring the temptation to rub his ass, which was a little sore from having sat down so long. Things were looking up, though, because Cath was walking right to his lab with a plastic tub in her arms. If he was lucky, there'd be evidence inside.

 

"Whaddaya have for me?" he asked, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. Before Cath could answer, he leaned forward to peek into the tub, grinning when he saw array of leather toys. "Nice," he complimented, and grinned cheekily at Cath and Gil. This was his safe zone, where he could flirt as much as he wanted and not worry about it being taken the wrong way. More importantly, he wasn't prone to getting too caught up in the flirting in the lab atmosphere; not like he could at a place like Lady Heather's, where something as simple - or kinky - as wall decorations could distract him from the fact that the flirting couldn't go anywhere, not with Cath or Sara because they didn't like him, not with Nick because he was straight, not with Gil because he was, well, Gil. At work, flirting was just fun. It was harmless. Which was why Greg was free to flirt now. "Hey, when the case is over, think Lady Heather would let me take something for a souvenir?"

 

Smirking, Cath unceremoniously dropped the tub on the edge of his lab bench, letting out a sigh as she did so. It was one of those heavy sighs that meant it had been a long night, and Greg's flirting probably wouldn't even get a smile out of her. "These were all the, uh, toys used last night," she told him dryly. "Swab 'em, run 'em, page us when you've got results."

 

"Yes ma'am," Greg muttered, only a little sarcastically. He really wished people would humor him by flirting back sometimes. Okay, Cath actually did flirt back every once in a while, she just wasn't doing it tonight.

 

Cath was on her way out, but she flashed half a grin at him over her shoulder, one foot already in the hallway. "Thanks, Greg," she called, which was more than Greg had been expecting. He grinned. Then Gil started to leave, and Greg remembered he had to ask him about the evidence.

 

"Uh, Griss?" he asked, smiling nervously when Gil turned around. "Am I really allowed to process this evidence? I mean, because I was at the interview and everything."

 

Gil cocked his head, an expression falling over his face that Greg hadn't seen very often. He wasn't sure, but... it looked like Gil was actually stumped for a moment. Then his face cleared, and he shrugged, taking on that casual, noncommital tone that meant Gil knew they had to play politics and efficiently analyze the evidence at the same time. "If you're not sure, you should-"

 

"Aliquot the samples so the defense can run their own tests if they have to," Greg finished. "I know. But-"

 

Gil interrupted by lifting his hand. "You should do that anyway, Greg." Gil's voice was stern, and that made Greg's cock twitch to attention. Again. Determinedly ignoring the distraction - and the image of Gil using that voice on him when they were alone and naked in a bedroom somewhere - Greg simply nodded. "What I was going to say is that you should have an impartial witness."

 

Greg raised an eyebrow. "And where am I going to get one of those?"

 

"I don't know, Greg," he said with a shrug, in that tone that Greg knew all too well. It was the one that meant I don't have time for this, figure it out yourself. Gil turned to leave, and Greg sighed. Gil was never going to notice him, was he?

 

***

 

One of the things Greg liked about having a lab to himself was that it gave him time to think while the samples were running. Results didn't come out right away, and when no one was piling evidence on his bench, Greg had time to sit back, think, ponder, daydream if he wanted. That night, he chose to ponder.

 

Specifically, he was pondering Gil. He hated it when Gil brushed him off like that. It made him feel like he didn't mean anything, like Gil didn't notice him at all. But obviously Gil did notice him, because he'd taken Greg out in the field with him. Lab techs didn't get to go out in the field every day, especially not by just asking to. Besides, Gil was the shift supervisor. Of course he was busy and distracted. Just because he didn't have time to micromanage didn't mean he didn't notice Greg.

 

And what would happen if Gil did notice him, anyway? It wasn't like anything could happen. The chances that Gil was interested in the same things Greg was interested in - even if it was just sex - were slim to none. Greg knew that; it was why he still dated, even though he hadn't allowed himself to get close enough to anyone to do any of the more hardcore domination and submission since he'd met Gil.

 

It was the same reason he'd never been a customer at the Dominion even though he knew about it and the idea appealed to him. Greg could do casual sex, but casual domination and submission, he just couldn't do. It was far more intimate and required more trust than anything as simple as sex.

 

He hadn't really missed it until lately. He was satisfied with fantasies and one-night stands, with the painplay and breathplay he did on his own. Who better to trust than himself, right? It wasn't as good as it was with a partner, of course, but Greg couldn't just go without it. It would be like trying to start his night without coffee or end his morning without a cigarette. He didn't do it as regularly as he drank coffee or smoked, but it was just as much a part of his life.

 

It had been a part of Mona's life, too, apparently. Of all the items he'd tested, Greg had found Mona's DNA on three of them - one mask, two straws. It wasn't Greg's preferred method of breath control play, but it was a legitimate one nonetheless. Unfortunately, it was also what had probably killed Mona.

 

It was always sobering to discover that someone had died doing something Greg did himself, even when it wasn't exactly the same. The similarities were too many not to notice. It wasn't like when victims were killed or died in regular accidents like falling down the stairs or losing control of a car in the rain. Risky sex and risky nonsexual behavior - because sometimes the play wasn't about sex at all, whether it was solo or with a partner - was a choice they made, to whatever extent, knowing the risks. Some of them were more careful than others, and no matter how careful they were, the risk was always there. Mona had probably thought she was being careful, but her partner hadn't been careful enough, and as a result, she was dead.

 

The details made it a little hard to be his usual cheerful self when Cath and Gil returned for the results, but he plastered on a smile, determined not to let them see how closely this case cut to home for him. If he took it seriously, if he let them see the edge of fear that surfaced every time he was reminded of just how dangerous his pastimes were, they might figure it out, and when people who didn't do it figured it out, they tried to get him to stop, tried to save him. Thing was, Greg didn't want to be saved. It was the risk and the rush of adrenaline that made him feel so alive, and he knew he'd be empty without it.

 

"These are the masks and the straws I took out of the sink at Lady Heather's," Cath was saying, her voice raising at the end like a question. Greg nodded, gesturing at the specific mask and straws he'd put aside.

 

"None of which have been washed." That had atually been a good thing, since it meant none of the DNA had been washed away or mixed. They'd been lucky to find the evidence before it had been compromised.

 

"Mona was a dominatrix at the fetish club," Gil commented. "But my guess is that she was a switch for her off-the-book clients."

 

It was hard to stay somber with Gil saying dominatrix, fetish club, and switch as easily as he said crime scene or drosophila melanogaster. Greg laughed, disguising the tentative beginnings of arousal with amusement. "You know what a switch is?" It would be really, really awesome if Gil did know, because Greg was a switch. If Gil knew the words, maybe he knew the lifestyle, too.

 

Or maybe he was just a fact junkie like Greg, who did all his homework so he understood as much as he could about the case he was working.

 

"Someone who's dominant as well as submissive," Gil said, just as casually as if he were explaining the difference between regular coffee and decaf. It had been a while since Greg had so much as talked to someone who was so comfortable with the language. Gil was acting like it was the most normal thing in the world; Cath was smirking, and Greg knew Nick would've been blushing like crazy if he had to say words like that.

 

It was hard not to fall even more in lust with Gil at that moment. "Oh, he's even got the lingo down," Greg complimented, grinning at Cath, who just smirked. Not unexpected, but still disappointing. In order to lighten his own mood, Greg snapped his wrist with a Whp-cha sound effect to imitate a whip. Cath chuckled, and Gil just remained standing solidly in the doorway. He looked almost insulted. That was... promising, actually.

 

"If Mona's DNA is in one of those masks, then she was the submissive on the night she died."

 

Greg could've told Gil that, but he just nodded. Gil was uncomfortable and he was changing the subject. Greg just wished he knew exactly what was making Gil uncomfortable. "You're so dialed into this case, I'll bet you don't need me to tell you which mask had her DNA." Sometimes, flattery worked.

 

"Yes, I do, Greg." And sometimes, it didn't. But Gil's voice still worked on Greg, no matter what he was saying. "I also need to know which straw she used."

 

"Straws," Greg corrected, emphasizing the plurality of the word. Turning around, he snatched two markers - the ones he'd used to mark the appropriate ends of the straws - and stuck them in his nose to demonstrate. Not the most attractive look, but it got the point across.

 

Gil did not look amused. Cath, on the other hand, appreciated Greg's sense of humor for once. "Mmm, very nice, Greg, that's the idea. Two straws per mask."

 

"Yup," Greg agreed proudly, pulling the markers out of his nose and staring at them distastefully. Should he sterilize them now? Just throw them away? "You can't get any air through pens, though."

 

"And not much more through straws," Cath said with a nod.

 

Gil still didn't look amused, and the stare he was giving Greg wasn't exactly impressed, either. "And even less if someone's fingers are on the other end."

 

Gil got it. He hadn't known Mona's DNA was on the straws until just now and he got it right away. Had Gil ever done it himself, or was he just really intuitive? "I found the victim's DNA on this mask, and..." Greg picked them up, "these two straws. Red mark, victim; blue mark-"

 

"Our killer," Gil concluded. "Now we just need a suspect."


	6. Chapter 1F

  
Author's notes: Risky sex and risky nonsexual behavior is a choice they make, to whatever extent, knowing the risks. Some of them are more careful than others, and no matter how careful they are, the risk is always there.  
  
 **WARNING** : This section contains explicit breath control play. If you are uncomfortable with this, stop reading after the slashes (/////).  
 **Author's Note** : This is my first time writing breathplay, so please excuse (and let me know about!) any errors.  


* * *

It was the end of shift, and Greg hadn't gotten any new evidence for Mona's case, not even a suspect to match the DNA on the straws to. For once, Greg wished he could work a double, but day's DNA tech was there and Greg had to turn over his lab.

 

He stopped just outside Gil's office, trying to assess whether it would do any good to try to talk to Gil. On the one hand, Gil might brush him off, but Greg was used to that. On the other hand, there was always the possibility that Gil wasn't too busy, and might actually talk to him.

 

Gil didn't look busy. Then again, looking busy and being busy could be two different things for Gil. He was sitting at his desk, looking at what appeared to be a case file, and he had his reading glasses on.

 

That settled it. There was no way Greg could walk away from the sexiness that was Gil in reading glasses. "Um, hey," he said casually, and leaned in the doorway. "You have a minute?"

 

Gil looked up at Greg over the rims of his glasses. That was sexy, too. "Sure, Greg. What's on your mind?"

 

It wasn't I always have time for you, Greg, but they weren't lovers or even friends. And while Greg often took Gil's brush-offs personally, he knew that the not-being-friends thing was a condition of Being Gil Grissom. "Oh, I was, uh, wondering, did you get a suspect yet?"

 

"No, not yet." Gil closed the file folder on his desk and slid off his glasses, concentrating his attention completely on Greg. That was completely unexpected, and good. "So tell me. How did you like being out in the field?"

 

In the field, in the Dominion; at this point, it was the same to Greg. He considered playing it safe, not letting Gil know how much he'd loved it, but what did he have to lose? Gil hadn't exactly seemed shocked by anything he'd seen or heard at the Dominion, and anyone who took it in stride so easily had to at least be comfortable with or aware of the lifestyle, and that was if he wasn't actually part of it.

 

It wasn't like Nick, who blushed at the smallest mention of sex, or Cath, who took it all in with general amusement but not necessarily judgment. Gil had reacted to the Dominion and to Lady Heather so casually, Greg might have guessed that Gil had been there before.

 

Whether he'd been there before or not, Gil had acted in such a way that Greg wasn't worried about admitting that he'd enjoyed being in 'the field', even if Gil correctly interpreted it as Greg having enjoyed his visit to the Dominion. "It was great," he enthused, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, grinning. "I mean, I know I didn't really get to do much, and I shouldn't really have um, you know, kinda started the interview, but Lady Heather talked to me and I figured I should just go for it, yanno? It was fun," he concluded, slowing down a little. "I'd like to do it again." And yeah, he meant being in the field or going to the Dominion. Either was just as good as the other.

 

Gil studied him, not quite with a straight face. He was leaning back in his chair, tapping his steepled fingers against one another, and he had a half smile that was almost a smirk. It was subtle, but Greg could see it, and that made him smirk right back. Gil Grissom wasn't as stoic as he tried so hard to appear. "If you're talking about getting out in the field, I'll see what I can do. If you're talking about Lady Heather's..." Greg rose his eyebrows at that, and waited for Gil to continue. "...it would be wise to wait until the case is closed."

 

Greg snorted. It was a nice thought, and really encouraging that Gil didn't have a problem with him going back to the Dominion after the case was closed, but Greg wasn't exactly planning to go back unless it was work-related. "Thanks, but I don't pay for that kinda stuff," he said without thinking. That was revealing a lot more than he'd planned, but he couldn't take it back now. So, Gil knew. Knew that he was into at least some of the stuff that went on in the Dominion even if he didn't pay for it.

 

Greg didn't blush often, but he knew he was doing it now. Gil's expression revealed nothing, which was really damn frustrating. "No offense to people who do," Greg felt compelled to say, dropping his gaze to the floor. "But it's - personal."

 

"Yes, it is," Gil agreed immediately. Greg lifted his gaze cautiously and swallowed hard. He'd said too much. "If you want to talk about it-"

 

"I know, I know," Greg muttered. "There's a therapist here on Thursday mornings." It wasn't that he thought Gil thought there was anything wrong with it - Gil had seemed more fascinated than disapproving of what had been going on at the Dominion. No, Greg knew - not from personal experience so much as from Sara and Warrick and Nick and Cath - that 'personal' was a no-no when it came to Gil. Gil never shared anything personal about himself, and he didn't seem to know how to relate to any of them, even though he was constantly watching them, analyzing them, and ordering them around. Fortunately for Greg, he liked being ordered around, and fortunately for Grissom, the whole team had a healthy level of respect for Gil that was more important than his inability to socialize.

 

And Gil, probably disappointed at being pre-empted, simply nodded. Taking that as a dismissal, Greg gave him a tight smile, and pushed up out of the chair. He couldn't take it personally; Gil just wasn't comfortable talking about personal stuff, and besides, Gil was his supervisor. No amount of fantasizing would change that, or the fact that employer/employee relationships were frowned upon, especially in their field.

 

One of these days, Greg was going to get it through his head that this was just a crush, albeit a very strong one, and he'd stop trying so hard to impress Gil. Until then, he'd take what he could get from the man, even if it was just the ocassional smile or tilt of the head. And what Greg couldn't get from Gil, he'd get from himself. After all, no one knew better than Greg what Greg liked.

 

/////

 

Tie, check. Water bottle, check. Towels, check. Scarf, check. Clothes off, check.

 

All set.

 

Greg breathed in deeply, already a little light-headed with anticipation as he rested his knee on the bed. It was better to do this somewhere soft, so that when he passed out, he wouldn't hit his head on anything hard.

 

He wasn't going to do it lying down, either. Less than half the time, it made him throw up, but even if it had never happened, he still knew it was possible. Throwing up while he was lying down would make it too easy to choke on his own vomit, and that wasn't the result he wanted.

 

To reduce risk number one, Greg did it in bed instead of somewhere hard. Since he'd be sitting up against the headboard to reduce the second risk, he had pillows piled up along the head of the bed, for comfort and to soften his fall. And since it was unlikely that he wouldn't fall, he sat in the very center of his bed, his nice big king-sized bed. It would be pretty difficult for him to fall off the bed. Difficult, but not impossible, but it was one of the smaller risks and it was one he took.

 

The bigger risk was what he was going to do with the tie. That was the biggest risk, actually. That and everything that might happen after he passed out, if he managed to get that far. Sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he got distracted by his thoughts or he was too tired to hold the tie tight enough or he misjudged how faint he was and let go too soon.

 

He settled himself on the bed, on top of the towels he'd arranged on top of the covers. It made cleanup easier if he threw up or came or ended up doing both. He didn't do it for the orgasm, and he definitely didn't do it for the vomiting, but the first side effect he didn't mind too much and the second didn't happen frequently enough to deter him from doing it.

 

The half bottle of ice was on the nightstand, the remaining half filled with cold water. Whether he passed out of not, by the time he either woke up or gave up, he'd have water to drink, to clean out his mouth, moisten his dry throat.

 

Settled into place, Greg closed his eyes. He picked up the scarf without looking, letting it wind around his wrist, his palm. It was thick and soft, nothing he'd ever let himself be seen wearing in public, but it provided excellent padding and minimized bruising. Greg knew some people would think he was crazy to do something like this, something so risky that required so much forethought, whereas sex could usually be rushed into without much planning. But the steps of preparation and the awareness of the risks he was taking and preventing were all part of it, part of the high of anticipation. Having everything in place made it easier to come down from it after, to be comfortable knowing that everything was taken care of.

 

He wrapped the scarf around his neck a few times, making sure it was snug even though he wasn't going to use the scarf to strangle himself. It was just padding, but if he left it too loose, it could wrinkle under the tie and leave its own patterns on his neck, and the purpose of padding could be defeated if it left a mark. Besides, it was more comfortable without wrinkles.

 

One end of the scarf hung back over his shoulder, the other hung down the front of his chest, not very far. Stroking his fingers over the material, Greg was already starting to feel light-headed, just from knowing how close he was to complete bliss. He couldn't wait; he picked up the last piece of the puzzle, the tie, and arranged it around his neck, careful to employ a safety release system. He didn't tie the tie, just twisted the ends around each other once. It would stay tight as long as he pulled with both hands; if and when he passed out, his hands would automatically fall open and there would be nothing left to keep the tie in place, so he wouldn't choke to death.

 

Greg looped the tie around his neck, and opened his eyes to take one more look around the room. Every time he did this, he knew there was the chance that something would go wrong, no matter how many precautions he took. Greg's method of breathplay required more willpower than some other methods, since he had to hold onto both ends of the tie in order to strangle himself. As long as he concentrated, though, he could usually accomplish what he wanted. It was worth it to know that even though it was more difficult, it was at least less risky, because staying alive was as important as the rush. After all, he couldn't enjoy strangling himself if he was dead.

 

Of course, cheating death was a part of the thrill. Despite all the precautions he took, there was always the knowledge that he might mess up, that he might never get his breath back or wake up. He was at a greater risk because he smoked, but he had no plans to quit. He only smoked one cigarette a day, anyway. It was part of his routine.

 

He didn't strangle himself as regularly as he smoked. Mostly because it took too much effort and he was too likely to get addicted if he let himself do it every day. Usually it took something specific to inspire him to self-asphyxiate, something specific like meeting the Lady of the Dominion and seeing all the toys Greg had used at one point in his life, and had had used on him at other times, remembering how intoxicating it had been and imagining Gil using any one of those wall decorations on him, admonishing Greg as he did. There was a Grissom in Greg's mind that came out every time he fantasized about the man, one who liked to tie him up and flog him and fuck him and strangle him. Greg knew he'd be satisfied with any one of those; he also knew that it would take a miracle for that to ever happen.

 

But Greg didn't mind; that was what fantasies were for. He'd already had his share of intense relationships and even though it had been two years, he still wasn't ready to rejoin the life of the coupled. It wasn't just that relationships could be complicated; he was practically in love with Gil, and since he had a snowball's chance in hell of having the feelings returned by his boss, it would be a lie for him to get into a relationship with anyone else. So until Greg came to terms with his feelings for Gil and moved on, his satisfaction would be limited to one-night stands and solitairy play.

 

Greg gave his cock an affectionate caress before moving his hands up to grip the ends of the tie. Jerking off and asphyxiating didn't mix; both required his full concentration when he was solo, which meant that he had to choose one or the other. Today was a day for strangulation; how could he not, after everything he'd seen at the Dominion?

 

Shifting down just a little, Greg closed his eyes again, and tightened his hands on the tie. He kept breathing at first, trying to draw it out, but it didn't take long before his vision started to spot behind his eyelids, his breath tapering off as he struggled to keep his hands wrapped tightly around the tie.

 

It felt like swimming. The air floated around him as oxygen stopped flowing to his brain, sacrificing a few brain cells but he had plenty to spare. Knowing he was almost out of it, Greg tugged, or tried to, but he wasn't sure if it was actually working or not. His head rolling back, Greg arched up off the bed. He might've smiled when he orgasmed, but he couldn't be sure. He felt like he was smiling, though. Felt like he was smiling as his fingers uncurled from the tie and he slumped where he was sitting, drifting into unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 2  Hope in You for Me

  
Author's notes: Just because Greg can't be a crime scene investigator yet doesn't mean he can't investigate a scene.  


* * *

Greg stared at the envelope Gil had just handed him. He couldn't believe Gil had been holding onto it for hours, and had purposely waited until the end of shift to give it to him. But no, that would've distracted Greg from his tasks in the lab; it was probably for the best. It was distracting him from walking, and that was something that required a lot less thinking.

 

"Watch where you're going," someone called, just as Greg realized that his left shoulder had connected with a moving human. The human was gone, though, so he kept walking, and let out a hiss when his right shoulder collided with the locker room door. He didn't care, though. He was too curious to see what was inside.

 

The paper was thick and textured, his name written on the front in curvy calligraphy, and the other side was actually sealed, with wax and everything. Heather wanted me to give this to you, Gil had said, somewhat awkwardly, and handed it to him over the lab bench. It amused Greg that Gil was on a first-name basis with Lady Heather; as if anyone could be. Of course, if anyone else called her Heather, that would have suggested disrespect of her title. Greg had seen no hint of disrespect when he'd been at the Dominion with Gil and Cath, or at any time during the investigation. Not that Greg had gotten to see anything of the investigation except when it came through his lab; he'd just been too busy with evidence to warrant taking more time in the field.

 

Now the case was over, and he had an envelope from Lady Heather, one that had passed through Gil's hands. That made Greg giddier than anything else, knowing that Gil had touched the envelope and it wasn't a piece of evidence he had to analyze and then store for trial. He could keep this, and he was going to, he was going to save it forever.

 

He should open it, though. See what Lady Heather wanted. He couldn't believe that she remembered him; she must see dozens of people every day. She must have seen Greg's interest in Gil, too, because it was no accident that she'd given it to him to give to Greg. Either that or she was interested in Gil, and whatever was in this envelope was just an excuse for her to make Gil curious. Well, Greg was curious, and even if Lady Heather was using him to get to Gil, he didn't care. He could be used for worse things. He hadn't been, but he could.

 

Besides, it wasn't like he couldn't see the attraction.

 

Greg slipped his finger under the flap of the envelope, running his thumb over the smooth stamped wax as he worked it open. The envelope didn't rip, for which he was grateful. He pulled out a single piece of paper; it was nothing more than a formally worded invitation to meet with Lady Heather for a consultation.

 

He knew what a consultation was. Lady Heather wanted to meet with him to discuss what kind of scene he wanted to buy. He wasn't interested.

 

That didn't mean he was going to turn down the invitation, though. Trying to make a client of someone who'd helped investigate the death of one of her employees was tacky, and Lady Heather wasn't tacky. Which meant that she hadn't sent him the invitation because of the business she was hoping to get from him. No, she wanted a consultation with him for some other reason, and Greg was going to figure out what that reason was.

 

It would be his own personal investigation.


	8. Chapter 2B

  
Author's notes: Just because Greg can't be a crime scene investigator yet doesn't mean he can't investigate a scene.  


* * *

Leather had seemed appropriate. Not just appropriate; ideal. Not just leather shoes and wristcuffs and his leather jacket - not the Members one, because with the collar, it would've been overkill. He couldn't get away with the collar at work with how thick and snug the leather was, and most telling, the D-ring in the front that could not only be used as an attachment for bondage, but also had a tag with his name on it.

 

The collar had been a gift from an ex-lover, one who'd left just over two years ago after the last of many fights about their respective roles in the relationship. The argument had really been over whether there should be roles for each of them; Greg had wanted more fluidity in the relationship, or at least for James to understand that there wasn't anything unusual about Greg for enjoying both dom and submission. Greg had never pressured James to switch roles, but the fact that he even mentioned it made James question the validity of Greg's subservience. And maybe that was the problem; James had been more interested in their roles than in their ability to work as a couple.

 

He'd kept the collar, though, because it reminded him of the lessons to be learned from both the good and the bad memories. Greg knew there were bad doms out there, ones who didn't treat their subs well, and James had always treated him well. It wasn't until Greg stepped out of his sub space and reminded James that he was more than his submissiveness that James had a problem. The collar was a reminder that no matter how much he liked being a slave to someone else, he had to be with someone who understood the difference between a role and an identity. It was a lesson James had taught him well, and Greg intended never to forget it.

 

"I saw you admiring some of my accoutrements of bondage the last time you were here," Lady Heather commented. She'd noticed the collar right away, but hadn't said anything about it until they reached her office. The scent of leather was almost enough to overwhelm his senses, bringing both nostalgia and, even more strongly, arousal. "I see you already have one of your own."

 

Greg smiled fondly and lifted his hand to touch the tag, a comforting reminder that it was there, that it more than just a strip of leather. He knew what Lady Heather was really commenting on; she'd wondered if he had any experience in the lifestyle or if he was just awed by the exoticism of it all. It was a little bit of both for Greg, if more the former than the latter. "Yeah. Ex-boyfriend got it for me."

 

No reason to make her guess at his sexuality, too. Not that she hadn't figured it out already. And if she wanted to question him about his past relationships, well, that was what he was here for. The invitation has been for a consultation, but since Greg wasn't expecting to take advantage of any of the services Lady Heather offered, he was hoping for a more therapeutic experience. She had him here for her own reasons, and it was curiosity about those reasons that had convinced Greg to accept the invitation. But while he was here, he could at least take advantage of the fact that he'd be talking to someone who not only accepted this part of his lifestyle, but practiced and marketed it, too. He could speak freely here in a way he couldn't with any of his coworkers.

 

Lady Heather studied him for a moment. When she spoke, she did so without tact or emotion, but in such a way that it wasn't offensive. "Why ex?"

 

Not many people had the balls to ask such a personal question so soon after meeting, but Greg wasn't surprised. Lady Heather had plenty of balls. "I made the mistake of telling him I liked to be dominant sometimes," he shrugged. "He doesn't believe in switches. But if you ask me, I think he was just scared I'd make him be submissive." It was easier to convince himself of that than to believe that James hadn't respected or trusted him the way Greg had respected and trusted him.

 

"And that was distasteful to him?"

 

"Nah, he just wasn't ready for that with me or anyone else. When you're a dominant, you only have to trust yourself." Greg knew that not everyone agreed with him on that point, but he believed it. He'd always found it easier to be dominant with his partners at first, and on the other end of the spectrum, being able to submit to someone else was always more fulfilling. It was extremely satisfying to give control of his pleasure and his pain to someone else, and James hadn't been able to do that. At least, with him. "When you're submissive, you have to trust yourself and your partner. James wasn't at that point yet, but I don't think it was just me."

 

Greg detected a slight smirk on Lady Heather's face. She looked amused, but she hid it well. "You seem rather confident about that."

 

She didn't believe him. Greg shrugged; the only person who had to believe it was himself. "It's nicer than thinking he left because of me."

 

Lady Heather acknowledged his answer with a tilt of her head. It seemed to be the answer she'd wanted, because she moved on to another question. "You kept the collar." And you're still wearing it was left unsaid.

 

"Yeah." Greg glanced down for a moment, as if he could see the warmed metal between his fingers. "It's a nice collar. And, well, he was a good dom. I know I was lucky with him."

 

"Even though you're not together anymore?"

 

"Better to've loved and lost, right?" Greg didn't hold onto any hard feelings about James. He was still young, anyway. At twenty-six, he'd had more lovers than a lot of over-thirties he knew; he had plenty of time to meet the person he was meant to spend the rest of his life with. For now, he was still learning about himself, about his preferences and his career, still deciding what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

 

How many people his age could even say they had a career, never mind that they worked at the second-best crime lab in the country and that even in this very, very big pond, he was still a really big fish with job offers coming in from all around the country at least once every few months? Greg still had so many choices, so many options when it came to what to do with the rest of his life and who to spend it with. So if he had a few relationships that hadn't worked out, at least he'd had the experience, right?

 

"Besides," he continued, "what's the point of being with someone who doesn't get me? He was a good guy," Greg concluded, stroking the tag one last time before he let his hand drop into his lap. "But I'm sure there are better guys out there." He would just see if Lady Heather took the bait.

 

She did. "Men like your boss, Mr. Grissom?" she asked casually. Greg smirked.

 

"Mmmmm." He didn't even pretend to hide his interest in Gil. "I bet he's really good."

 

The spark in Lady Heather's eyes was all the answer Greg needed. This was why she'd invited him here; she was curious about his dynamic with Grissom. Attracted to him herself, but probably intrigued by those who knew him well, too. Greg couldn't be sure whether she was attracted to Gil as a dominant or a submissive; Gil was clearly dominant, but then, so was Heather. Did she want to dominate him, or did she want him to dominate her?

 

The best decision, of course, would be for both of them to dominate him. Greg snickered.

 

"Do you find that amusing, Mr. Sanders?"

 

It took Greg a second to remember what he'd said out loud before his thoughts had gone off track, but when he did, he cleared his throat and shook his head. "No," he assured her, fighting off a smile even as he wondered if he should start acting a little more... respectful? He wasn't being disrespectful, not exactly. "I was just thinking you two'd make a good team."

 

That got Lady Heather's attention. She tried to hide it, but Greg could tell the idea pleased her. She probably didn't realize Greg was picturing himself with the two of them, which was fine. He wouldn't even have to be the center of attention if they were dominating him. He could picture the two of them sizing each other up, competing to see which one of them could drive him out of his mind more.

 

Damn. He'd never had two doms at once; he'd never even had sex with two people at once. But that was fucking hot.

 

"Do you wish to set up an appointment with Mr. Grissom?"

 

Greg's eyes widened. "Do I wish to? That would be awesome," he said enthusiastically, but shook his head. "But Gil and I aren't... he's not... we're not together," he finally spat out. He didn't really think Lady Heather had thought they were; she couldn't be that oblivious to Gil's lack of interest in him. As much as Greg liked to pretend otherwise, he knew the sexual tension was one-sided. "But thanks anyway."

 

Lady Heather wasn't deterred. "What about a personal session for yourself?"

 

The offer was tempting, but Greg didn't want to do a session with a stranger. "Will you dominate me?" He only asked because he knew the answer would be 'no'.

 

Lady Heather gave a slight smile. "I'm sorry, but I don't offer that service. I do, however, employ many women and men, among whom you might find an acceptable dominant... or submissive."

 

She really knew how to bait the line. "I could pay to dominate someone?" If he'd known that, things might have been different. He'd just assumed that allowing clients to dominate employees in person was too much of a liability.

 

"With my approval and under close surveillance, yes," Lady Heather answered. It was almost too tempting. Greg licked his lips.

 

"What do I have to do to get your approval?"


	9. Chapter 2C

Gil was staring at him. Gil, not Grissom, because Grissom-staring was the boss staring at him when it was doubtful that he was actually doing his job. Gil-staring, however, was that curious scientist's stare, like Gil was trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle before he would let himself see the whole picture.

 

Greg was starting to get nervous. He hadn't stopped to wonder if anyone would notice anything different about him, even though his extracurricular activities had changed dramatically, but it wasn't like that showed on the job. Gil was the only one who even knew he'd gotten a letter from Lady Heather - unless of course Gil had confided in someone else, which was always possible - and Gil hadn't said a word about it. He had, however, stopped in his tracks in the middle of the hallway to Gil-stare at Greg, and frankly, it was making Greg a little twitchy.

 

And even though Greg was watching Gil watch him, Gil didn't seem to notice that Greg noticed him. Which was weird in a bizarrely unweird way because it was Gil. People saw certain things when they looked at something or someone, and whatever Gil saw always seemed different from what other people saw. For all Greg knew, Gil wasn't even looking at him.

 

"Hey, Boss," he called out, his nervousness quelled a little by the surprise on Gil's face when he realized he'd been caught staring. Not that Greg knew exactly what he was staring at, but then, who did? "What can I do ya for?"

 

Gil shook his head and smiled minutely. Without a word, he turned and resumed his progress to whatever his original destination had been. Greg shrugged, and went back to work.

 

***

 

Gil wasn't the only one looking at him weird a couple of weeks later. Whenever Archie walked by the DNA lab, he smirked, and one time when he did it, Sara was there. Sara gave Archie a strange look, and then Archie whispered something to her, and Sara raised her eyebrows and looked at Greg again.

 

"I can see you guys, you know," he said loudly. He had no idea what they were talking about, but he was starting to get annoyed. "These walls are glass, not one-sided mirrors."

 

Archie laughed and returned to the A/V lab. Sara walked over to Greg's doorway, a smile playing on her lips. "Sorry, Greggo." She sounded more amused than sorry, if you asked Greg, but Greg didn't act offended. Mostly because he wasn't. More than anything, he was curious. "Archie has a warped sense of humor."

 

"You're just now figuring that out?" Greg grinned and leaned against a lab bench, doing his best casual-sexy impression. It was a slow night in the lab, and even if it wasn't, he always had time for flirting, no matter who he was flirting with. Hell, he'd flirt with Ecklie if he didn't think it'd get him fired. Most people, when they were flirted with, it put them in a better mood. It certainly put Greg in a better mood, which was why he did it whenever he could. "What's so funny about me?"

 

"Shake my hand, Greg." Greg was bemused, but did as she asked. "Now with your left hand." This had to be some kind of experiment. Maybe Gil had put her up to it. Either way, it wasn't like he had anything better to do, so he did it.

 

"Now what?"

 

"You're right handed."

 

Greg pursed his lips thoughtfully. What did that have to do with anything? "Excellent CSI work, Sara," he said flatly. He wasn't mad at her, just confused. "What does that have to do with Archie laughing at me?"

 

"He says you've been using your left hand more. Something wrong with your right hand?"

 

Greg narrowed his eyes, and in that moment, everything clicked. The only reason he'd be favoring his left hand would be because he was using his right arm so much in his sessions at the Dominion - flogging and whipping inanimate objects until he'd proved he could be trusted with real live people - that he'd been using his left side more at work. He hadn't even noticed it after the first day, but as he went to more and more sessions, it must have gotten more obvious to the people around him. Too bad he hadn't thought of that himself.

 

"Was Archie being crude? He knows he shouldn't say things like that in front of a lady," Greg said, in all mock seriousness, deflecting the attention from his own behavior to Archie's and getting back to the flirting. "Want me to beat him up for you?"

 

Sara tried not to laugh, and it came out as a snort that she covered up with a cough. It was very not subtle. "I'm sorry, Greg," she said, actually sounding apologetic this time, "but I don't think you could take him."

 

"I couldn't - take Archie? You don't think I could take Archie? Have you seen my quads?" With that, Greg flexed his arm, showing off his barely existent bicep. Playing the dumb blond always got a laugh out of Sara.

 

"Your quads are in your legs, genius," Sara informed him with an incredulous look, like the ones Nick gave him when he wasn't sure if Greg was exaggerating about his porn collection or experience scuba diving. It was fun.

 

"Really?" The frown was put on, but the bright grin that followed was completely real. "Maybe you could give me a lesson in anatomy." He wiggled his eyebrows seductively. Well, sort of.

 

"In your dreams," Sara muttered as she turned to leave the room. And just like Nick was never sure how honest Greg was being about the things he'd done in New York, Greg was never sure if Sara was really repulsed by him or just playing.

 

"Already happened in my dreams," he called before she could escape. It was actually true, but not just for Sara. He'd had sex dreams about pretty much everyone he'd ever met, at least in some vague form. Although lately his dreams had consisted of a leather-clad Gil with a paddle in hand, and that was really something he shouldn't be thinking about right now.

 

"So, see? You've got nothing to worry about." Sara flashed a grin over her shoulder, and then she was gone.


	10. Chapter 2D

  
Author's notes: Gil's in Duluth, Warrick's in charge, and Greg's back at Lady Heather's  


* * *

"Hey, Sanders, no punk rock."

 

Gil was in the doorway, holding a jar of roaches and he had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He was obviously going somewhere, and he'd stopped for long enough to give Greg a parting gift: admonition. Greg was honored. "What about Black Flag?" There were no insults between them, only good-natured bantering. Today, at least.

 

"Are you nuts?" Gil sounded slightly flabbergasted, in an amused sort of way. The amusement was probably just Greg's imagination, though. He didn't amuse Gil, he annoyed him. But hey, at least Gil didn't show any reproach before he slipped away.

 

The exchange left Greg burning with curiosity as he went back to work, pretending not to watch Gil head for his office, stopping briefly to talk to Catherine. Gil was clearly in a hurry, and Greg could only assume that it was CSI-related... and, also, somehow bug-related. But then again, given how married Gil was to his job, everything was CSI-related and/or bug-related to him.

 

Greg had it all figured out by the time he left work for the Dominion at the end of the morning. Not that he'd really figured it out himself - there had been an announcement in the break room, quick and hurried, Gil's jar of precious Madagascar hissing roaches nestled in the crook of his arm. Greg smiled to himself at the lingering image as he entered Lady Heather's office, the comforting scent of leather reminding him why he was there.

 

"Hey," he said brightly, taking a seat across from Lady Heather's desk. "So what's the plan for today?" He'd had four sessions with Heather so far, two each week since she'd sent him the sealed envelope through Gil. Sure, he'd only been allowed to work on dummies and inanimate objects so far, but he knew he was lucky to have gotten to see her as often as he had. Lady Heather was a busy woman, and the fact that she'd been the one to approach him made up for however slow the pace was in being approved as a dominant.

 

Lady Heather could be a little like Gil sometimes in the way she'd look at him instead of answering right away, and how when she did speak, it wasn't an answer to the question he'd asked. "You're in a good mood today," she observed, lips pursed in a minute smile. Greg grinned back.

 

"Today was a good day," he said mysteriously. Lady Heather just smiled, so Greg continued; there were few things he liked better than talking to someone who was willing to listen, especially when that someone understood him. Lady Heather was the only one who knew about his attraction to Gil, too, even if he'd only talked about it in so many words. "I mean, it's too bad that Gil's taking off, but he'll be back in a week. Some bug convention in Duluth," he explained, because he knew that if he didn't, Lady Heather would ask. Whether or not she was sincerely interested in him, he knew she had an interest in Gil, one that was only half intellectual. Kind of like Greg's interest in Gil. "But Warrick's in charge, so the lab's in good hands."

 

"Warrick," Lady Heather mused, asking the question without saying anything else. Greg nodded, leaning back in his seat to get more comfortable. They obviously weren't going to the pool house any time soon.

 

Greg nodded. "Warrick Brown. You didn't meet him 'cause he wasn't part of the investigation on Mona's homicide but he's one of the CSIs. Really good. A little volatile, though."

 

Lady Heather nodded slightly, elegantly folding her fingers together under her chin. "In what way?"

 

Greg hesitated. He didn't really want to tell tales out of school or say anything that made Warrick sound like a bad guy. Because Warrick was a good guy, he just got really involved in the cases sometimes. "He just has kind of a temper sometimes. But it's just because he gets passionate about the cases." Greg quirked a grin; it wasn't the first time he'd considered the possibility that Warrick could get passionate about other things, too. "Can't really blame him, I mean, we deal with some pretty rough stuff on the job." Greg wasn't sure he had the right to say 'we'; just because he had some field experience didn't mean he was a CSI. He didn't have to deal with a lot of the gruesome stuff they did, because he spent most of the time in the lab.

 

"And you think with Mr. Brown in charge, the lab is in good hands?"

 

Greg almost laughed at that; 'Mr. Brown'. He'd never heard anyone call him that, but then, Lady Heather was big with formality. The thing about calling Warrick 'Mr. Brown' was that it sounded so normal, so mundane, like 'Mr. Smith' or 'Mr. Jones'. And there was nothing mundane about Warrick, about his name or his attitude or his talent or his appearance. Definitely not his appearance, but Lady Heather wasn't asking about that, was she? "Well," he said, considering it, "Warrick's more of a leader than a follower, if you know what I mean. Doesn't let anyone tell him what to do."

 

"And you think that means he'll be good at telling others what to do? Is that what makes a good supervisor?"

 

Greg hadn't thought that going to the Dominion today would turn out to be an exercise in logic, but that was the way it was turning out. Lady Heather had a point. Just because Warrick was independent and good at leading his own investigations didn't necessarily mean that Warrick would be a good supervisor. As Greg had just mentioned, he did have a temper sometimes, and what happened if one of the other CSIs didn't want to follow his lead?

 

Well, only time would tell. "Maybe not," he said thoughtfully, then admitted, "Maybe I'm biased." He was biased in more than one way, he knew, and before Lady Heather could ask, he explained. "I trust Gil's judgment, you know? I don't think he would've put Warrick in charge if he didn't think Warrick could do it."

 

That got a sincere smile out of Lady Heather. "A man in Mr. Grissom's position is required to have good judgment," she agreed. "But I digress. We're not here to discuss your boss's judgment, are we?"

 

Down to business, apparently. Greg grinned again, especially at the fact that Lady Heather referred to Gil as his boss. She had a tendency to do that; every time she did, Greg was more and more certain that she liked Gil as a dominant and not a submissive. "No, we're not." Even though he wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for Gil's judgment deciding that Greg should be allowed to join the CSIs in their investigation of Mona's death almost a month ago. "So where to?"


End file.
